


the hopeful moments rebellions are built on

by darthpumpkinspice



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Pre-Rogue One, not actually super hopeful, sex on Krennic's bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 07:19:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9062101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/pseuds/darthpumpkinspice
Summary: How Bodhi Rook met Galen Erso, and how the architect of the Death Star showed a cargo pilot the value in rebellion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So despite what the title says, not actually very hopeful (although not quite as glum as the actual movie..). The title is more related to the end of the work. Oops! Anyway, after seeing Rogue One, I've been fascinated with how Galen could've met Bodhi and how those initial conversations went. Please review, I'd welcome any advice or input!!

Bodhi Rook has never been the sort of man that’s stood out from the crowd. This is less by accident then it is by design, he’s a cargo pilot by trade and choice. It’s a lonely and thankless job to be sure, and one without much in the way of advancement through the ranks.

By any metric, Bodhi is a perfectly competent pilot. His instructors at the Imperial Academy had given him sufficient marks, and he’d flown well enough on his final tests to qualify for a sizeable majority of pilot positions.  But somehow, the daily toils of a cargo pilot- the isolation and anonymity that had inspired his peers to get into the cockpit of a TIE fighter or on the bridge of a Star Destroyer instead- had made Bodhi say _“sign me up”_. And with a roll of her eyes and a slight sneer tugging up the corner of her upper lip, his instructor had done just that.

Bodhi Rook adapted quicker than most to the rigors of his chosen profession. The work was rarely challenging on its own, the isolation of deep space was made manageable with a well-stocked holo collection, and the obscurity that came with the job proved immensely refreshing. Bodhi Rook has never been the sort of man that’s stood out from the crowd. And as a cargo pilot he has become invisible. He is nameless, faceless, overlooked. Until one day, he is spotted.

Bodhi rarely pays attention to his cargo. This trip is no exception. He flies into a port in the Alderaanian system, and goes out to grab a quick drink in the military bar as Stormtroopers load up his ship. When he gets back he’s pleasantly buzzed and his navigational system has been updated with a new destination. Bodhi doesn’t notice it’s marked as highly classified. He wouldn’t particularly care either way. Bodhi’s a survivor, one that’s long realized the easiest and happiest way to live in the Empire is through a strict policy of not looking too closely at anything in particular. Bodhi enjoys his life, flies his ship, and does his job. The path of least resistance has worked out well for him.

The port Bodhi docks at is the least welcoming one he thinks he’s ever seen. It’s made from solid durosteel, all function with no care for form. The port has been crudely carved into the side of a massive cliff, surrounded by thick jungle that from an aerial view looks poised to devour the Imperial facility whole. Bodhi double-checks his schedule, but unfortunately he’s still ordered to stay overnight. He considers waiting in the ship for the entire duration of the stay, but reluctantly decides against it. Even Bodhi Rook has been known to get stir-crazy, and some fresh air does sound appealing.         

Bodhi makes the barest effort to look presentable. He smooths out the wrinkles in his uniform, and runs his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t bother trying too hard, as a general rule a cargo pilot could be stark naked and covered in pink glitter and still be spared nothing but a brief glance. He disembarks as a greeting party of Stormtroopers comes over to unload. A disinterested gaggle of what appear to be technicians trail behind them. Bodhi loiters by the side of the ship, watching the routine proceedings unfold. Yet something’s different this time. He’s been noticed.

Bodhi feels it before he realizes it. It’s the faintest prickle of his senses, a stirring sensation in his gut and a heat on the back of his neck. It takes him a while before he pieces it together to register that he’s being watched.

It’s a scientist that’s watching Bodhi, older then him and handsome, with greying temples and the sort of chiseled cheekbones Bodhi rarely sees outside holos. It’s hard to Bodhi to look away now, and his eyes inevitably drift up to meet the gaze of the scientist. Bodhi flushes instantly but the man does not seem perturbed. The smile he offers Bodhi is distant and professional, but his eyes are warm. Bodhi looks away, focuses on the troopers instead. They’re unloading more shiny metal containers then he realized he was carrying, and from the grunts and muffled curses coming from under their white helmets, Bodhi’s been hauling some heavy cargo.

The crowd of technicians- perhaps anticipating some more exciting supplies- drifts away. Bodhi’s already gotten bored of the port, and he doubts exploring inside will prove fruitful. This base looks like the place where joy shrivels up on itself like curdled milk, not the sort of place that would offer a good bar or pleasant company. Bodhi’s got some Correlian whiskey stashed away and a familiar holo featuring two Rattataki girls lined up for viewing, so the trip won’t be a complete bust. As he’s about to turn and leave, he realizes the older man is still there, quietly watching as the Stormtroopers pull away the last of the containers.

Bodhi stares for a second too long, and the man turns around to look back. He smiles and calls over, “young man.”

Unsure of how to respond, Bodhi stammers out something barely intelligible, and his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. _Fuck_ he thinks, and rapidly tries to remember when was the last time he had a substantive interaction with another sentient being. He can’t figure out an exact date, but it’s been a while. Even longer than that, the last time he’s touched or kissed someone, let alone fucked them. He’s overly flustered, his thoughts are spinning, and if a man could die of shame Bodhi would’ve done so a minute back.

Fortunately, when Bodhi pulls together enough courage to make eye contact with the scientist, the other man seems more amused than anything else. His smile has become wry, and his eyes have softened. He calls to Bodhi again, and this time Bodhi has regained enough self-control to answer properly.

The scientist steps forward. “Do you have a place to stay for the night?”

“How did you know I’m not leaving right now?” Bodhi asks, trying to inject a semblance of a joking tone into his words. He’s recalling bits and pieces of how conversation works, and though he’s aware he still has some practice to do with banter, it’s a start.

The scientist responds with a polite laugh. “They always have the cargo pilots stay overnight. They’ll search your ship; make sure you don’t have any contraband or anything illegal aboard.”

Bodhi thinks to his hidden stashes of alcohol, his favorite and crudest selections of holos. With an absent bitterness, he wonders how much of it will be making the return trip with him.

The scientist is continuing, “Most of the cargo pilots that come by elect to sleep on their ships. Of course, this means they get a rude awakening at some point in the night. If you wanted, I could pull some strings and get you situated in the nicer guest quarters.”

Bodhi stumbles over his words. “I- sure- that sounds- how would you do that?”

The scientist indulges Bodhi. “I’m the head engineer at this facility. I could, in fact, get you into the quarters usually reserved for Director Krennic. It’s a waste to leave them empty so often.”

Bodhi knows he should refuse. He’s not oblivious, he’s keenly aware of the dangers of offending Important People in the Empire, and he’s equally aware of how harshly they can react to even a minor slight. But the offer is so tempting, and the promise of a soft bed is like something out of a fever dream. He accepts the man’s offer, shakes his hand. “Bodhi Rook,” he introduces himself.

The scientist’s hand squeezes around Bodhi’s. “Galen Erso.”

 

* * *

 

 

Galen leads him to Krennic’s quarters, and gives Bodhi a conspiratorial wink as he types in the administrator access code for the door. It slides open with a soft sigh and Bodhi steps inside, feeling oddly giddy. The quarters aren’t anything special if he’s being honest with himself, but after weeks of wafer thin mattresses, anything with a pillow is a luxury.

Bodhi turns to Galen. “I don’t know how to thank you,” he admits.

Galen shrugs away the gratitude. He claps Bodhi on the shoulder and meets his eyes. “It’s my thanks to you, Bodhi. People like you put in more for this Empire in a week than people like Krennic do in a year.” Galen’s gaze sharpens, turns probing, “and to much less appreciation.”

Bodhi stiffens. It’s a dangerous thought that Galen voices, a thought Bodhi mostly tries to push out of his own head. It’s the sort of thought that would drive a man to reckless action if reflected on too frequently. _Rebellious_ action. That being said, it’s not a thought Bodhi _disagrees_ with either. He finds himself nodding along, as if he cannot help himself.

Galen removes his grip on Bodhi’s shoulder, but lets his hand drift along and linger on Bodhi’s uniform. His finger lazily traces the Imperial logo. “Why did you join?”

Bodhi thinks back, and finds himself without a sufficient answer. “Better than the other options, I guess. Always liked flying, too.”

There’s a bit of a twinkle in Galen’s eyes. “Doesn’t it get lonely in space? With only the stars and the void to keep you company?”

“It does,” Bodhi admits. “But it’s peaceful too. There are worse ways to live.” He finds himself growing bold, and leans into Galen’s touch a little. “Why did you join?”

Galen doesn’t meet Bodhi’s gaze. He takes a while to answer, running his hands down the side of Bodhi’s jacket before he responds. “I suppose you could say Director Krennic made me an offer I couldn’t refuse; the opportunity to work on this project.”

Bodhi isn’t quite sure why he’s curious- curiosity is usually a desire he quashes immediately on principle- but he is. “What kind of project is it?”

“A weapon,” Galen murmurs, almost a purr. His smile has become sly, but his eyes are cold and hard.

“Don’t think this galaxy needs anymore weapons,” Bodhi finds himself saying. He abruptly clamps his mouth shut, and wishes he could pull his words out of the air.

But somehow, he has said the right thing. Galen’s gaze thaws, smile softens. His hand moves from Bodhi’s jacket to the back of his neck, and pulls the other man into a kiss.

For a second Bodhi feels like he’s been drowning for years, slowly and without noticing, and now Galen offers an escape. He grabs Galen by the shoulders, deepening the kiss, pulling at his clothes. Distantly, he hears the sound of the door drift closed as Galen yanks off his jacket and pushes a hand between Bodhi’s legs.

They fuck on Krennic’s bed, and through the haze of rough pleasure Bodhi registers that Galen seems to take a certain vicious enjoyment in defiling the Director’s quarters. When they’re done, Galen rolls over and presses a gentle kiss to Bodhi’s forehead, fingers winding through dark hair. “Come see me again soon,” he urges.

“I will,” Bodhi promises. In time, he’ll make good on that promise. Rebellions aren’t just born from struggle and war. They’re also born from the quieter moments. The hopeful moments. Rebellions, after all, are built on hope.      


End file.
